


Whom stripes may move, not kindnes

by AirgiodSLV



Category: The Tempest - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-14
Updated: 2004-11-14
Packaged: 2019-07-20 13:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16138100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: Caliban’s eyes were dark when Prospero beckoned, but he never said ‘no’. Prospero may have forgotten how to teach him the word.





	Whom stripes may move, not kindnes

**Author's Note:**

> For Brenda.

_A frekelld whelpe, hag-borne not honour’d with_  
_A humane shape. – I.ii.398-399_

Sycorax’s eyes were not blue, no more her son’s. Caliban was a lusty boy, who grew into a coal-eyed, dark-skinned youth as if flowering like one of the exotic island blossoms. Prospero, far from Italy and the amenities of his state, had to learn the new language of life, and with it the secrets of a nubile island native who had inherited his mother’s magic.

Caliban taught Prospero the secrets of beads and charms, of circles drawn in dirt and animal-bone rattles, and with them Prospero became a magician of a darker kind than those feared in Naples and Milan.

 

_when thou cam’st first  
_ _Thou stroakst me, & made much of me: - I.ii.459-460_

Prospero had never thought to replace his late wife with another, nor sought the charms of another woman in her place. But the island was a lonely place, and he had nothing save the companionship of a toddler, and a wide-eyed native boy.

He charmed Caliban with his own magic, with books and pictures, tricks of physics, and he forgot longing for women. Caliban was smooth-skinned and dark and beautiful, and Prospero chose not to be alone forever. Caliban’s eyes were dark when Prospero beckoned, but he never said ‘no’. Prospero may have forgotten how to teach him the word.

 

_till thou didst seeke to violate  
_ _The honor of my childe. – I.ii.475-476_

Miranda had blossomed into a woman, and somehow Prospero never noticed. He saw her as a girl still, even when he glimpsed her hand against Caliban’s necklace of cowrie shells, pale and paler against black. Miranda was fascinated by exotic things, seashell treasures or a fallen feather. Caliban burned with his own island magic, and she swayed towards him like a fishing-boat at sea.

Prospero caught them together by the shore, with the sun burnishing Miranda’s golden hair and darkening Caliban’s skin to glossy ebony. He told himself that his wrath was that of a father, not a scorned lover.

 

 _this Thing of darkenesse, I_  
_Acknowledge mine. – V.i.312-313_

Caliban may have been born an island prince, but Prospero beat that nobility from him with the fallen branch of a tree. He made Caliban as misshapen as the son of a witch-hag should be, and defeated Caliban’s magic of shells and stones with the magic of blood, which he learned from dying creatures.

He made Caliban a slave, and he made himself a lord. The claim of revenge would never be answered by a monster with badly-healed legs, one who could not remember logic because the knowledge had been battered from his skull.

In time, even Miranda would forget.


End file.
